The Hope of the Eldar
by Cirdan
Summary: Maglor watches Maedhros consign his Silmaril to its right place in the earth. Then Maglor casts his Silmaril into the waters.


Standard disclaimer:  All the characters, locations, some quotes, and the initial conception of this world belong to J.R.R. Tolkien, whether it be from Lord of the Rings, The Silmarillion, Unfinished Tales, or The History of Middle-earth Volumes I-XII.

**The Hope of the Eldar**

            There was no pursuit from the hosts of the West, but even so, the remaining sons of Feanor rode far before they stopped to look at the treasures they'd recovered.  Maglor had not seen the Silmarils in a very long time.  Though bright, there were shadows in that Light.  The Light of the Two Trees existed now only in the Silmarils.  No one had ever said that the Unlight also existed in the Silmarils.  Maglor's heart ached for the tainted Jewels.

            "It is done," Maedhros said.

            Maglor tore his gaze from the Silmaril.  "We have won them at last and at great cost.  What will we do with them now?"

            Maedhros closed his eyes for a moment, as if trying to shut out visions of the horrors they had seen during their war against Morgoth.  "Mandos foretold that the fates of Arda, earth, sea, and air, lay locked within them. (1)  What else would we do but consign them to their right places?"

            Maglor didn't understand what Maedhros meant, but the Silmarils obviously did.  They flared to life in the hands of the sons of Feanor.  The Silmaril was deadly cold to the touch, like ice that burned.  Maglor gasped and dropped his Silmaril to the ground.  He ripped off the top of his canteen and poured the water generously over his burnt hand.  He looked to Maedhros and found his eldest brother grimacing at him.  Though it flared brightly, Maedhros held onto his Silmaril tightly.

            "Are you fey?"  Maglor's tone was sharper than he'd intended, but it was because he feared for his brother.  They're the same, Maglor realized.  Just as Maedhros was marred by Morgoth, so are the Silmarils.

            Maedhros held the Silmaril up, and Maglor saw in it the very fires of Morgoth that had swept the lands in the Dagor Bragollach, that had destroyed what had once been Beleriand in the War of Wrath.  Or were they flames from visions of the future, of the Dagor Dagorath?

            "Do you understand now?" Maedhros asked.  Maglor lost his power of speech.  Beside them, spires of fire sprung up from a chasm of the earth as if kindled by the burning Silmaril.  "You must do your part and consign your Silmaril to the waters."  Maedhros stepped toward the chasm.

            "Don't," Maglor said desperately.

            "I'm sorry, Little Brother."  Maedhros smiled sadly then, and at that moment, he seemed to Maglor more handsome than he had ever been before, and from this, it was sung in later times that sorrow and wisdom enriched the beauty of the Elves.  "The Curse of Feanor is over.  Morgoth has been dispossessed of his reign over Middle-earth.  You and Celebrimbor I cast from our House.  Descendants of Feanor you are, that cannot be changed, but no longer are you of the House of Feanor.  Do not forget to do your part, but do not follow my way."  Maedhros hesitated then embraced Maglor.

            "The Darkness has passed," Maglor said in a broken voice.  "Would you not now see the Light beyond the Darkness and be glad?"

            "I gave Hope to the Eldar, I have kept no hope for myself." (2)  Maedhros hugged Maglor once more then drew away.  "But you will sing of it, of the Light and the Dark, of the joys and the sorrows, and the deeds that we have done shall be remembered until the last days of Arda."

            Maedhros cast himself then into the gaping chasm filled with fire, and the Silmaril that he bore was taken into the bosom of the Earth.  Maglor watched with tears blurring his sight.  The fire flared higher for a moment and then burnt itself out suddenly like a candle that had been extinguished.  Then Maglor picked up the Silmaril.  It burned him still with its deadly frost, but this time Maglor did not recoil from the pain.

            Numbly, Maglor made his way to the western shore.  He looked down at the violent, crashing waves from upon a high cliff and thought of how wonderful and tempting it was to do as Maedhros had done, to personally deliver the Silmaril to its right place.  But Maedhros had been free to do this because his life's work was over.

            Maglor looked once more at the Light and Unlight in the Jewel of Feanor and then cast the Silmaril into the Sea.  He watched it plunge into the waters and then turned his back to the West.  As he wandered, Maglor began to sing his newest song, the Hope of the Eldar.

---

Notes:

(1)  Silmarillion, p. 73.

(2)  Adapted from The Return of the King, p. 426.

And I suppose, to some degree, you can say that the conclusion to Maglor's part of the story would be "The Full Tragedy of the Kinslaying" (storyid=1278159).


End file.
